


It's Coming Down on Me (Water Like Misery)

by auroreanrave



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Foiled Plans, Injury Recovery, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28861386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: The day before Foggy's birthday, he gets kidnapped, and gets ordered bed rest as a result. Matt enforces this.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	It's Coming Down on Me (Water Like Misery)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Lovely to see you all again, glad we all got the memo. Here's my annual birthday fic which, as I'm spending more time a) writing my own original stuff offline and b) dealing with all the joys that Covid can bring (seriously I hope you're all doing well and looking after yourselves and staying safe), is one of the few chances to write fic I have. Thus, here is a bit of fluff about my two favourite avocados and foiled birthday plans. I hope you're all doing well and staying safe and being fabulous. Hopefully see you sooner rather than later.
> 
> Title comes from "Rain on Me" by Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande, because it's both a favourite song of mine and a song that really pulled me through the maelstrom of 2020.

The day before Foggy's birthday, he gets kidnapped, as is the wont of being associated with the Daredevil (let alone being his actual, factual partner in multiple ways), and a little beaten and bruised for his trouble.

Fortunately it only takes thirty minutes for the Daredevil himself to burst in through the warehouse windows, scattering goons like terrified bowling pins, before Foggy is free and transported to hospital.

Unfortunately, it's there that he gets bad news. Thanks to a goon's particularly well-aimed kick, Foggy has bruised ribs, banged-up hands, and a strict order for a week's bed rest dictated by a doctor and all but commanded by Claire Temple's steely look as she tapes his fingers up.

"But it's my birthday," Foggy complains. "I'm supposed to go do stuff! We were all going to go out for dinner!"

"Tough," says Claire, carefully wrapping his hand with sky-blue tape. "We can go out later. Don't make me hurt you."

Foggy heads home afterwards, escorted by Matt, and is bundled immediately into bed where he falls asleep, half-dressed, to the sound of Matt's soft breathing, carefully cradled around him.

Matt, however, refuses such softness the next morning when it comes letting Foggy... well, do anything.

"It's my birthday!" cries Foggy as he sits in bed. It's evening and Matt has Foggy all but on house arrest. Bed arrest. Whatever. "I can do some stuff, Matt!"

"Nope," says Matt from the doorway to their bedroom. "Bed rest means bed rest."

Foggy had had plans for today with Matt - nothing fancy, maybe a nice coffee at that uptown place he likes but never visits because it's hella expensive, a walk in the park, and then dinner with the whole gang and maybe a round at Josie's.

Instead Foggy had stayed inside, watching the sky outside turn from pale blue to a menacing dark gray and the rain that soon followed. He'd slumped on the couch, flickering around insipid TV and eventually making headway on the stack of books on his bedside that he promised he'd get around to reading one day.

Foggy had held out hope that Matt - who had been out for part of the day with strict instructions for Foggy to stay at home or he'd know - would relent and let the meal still go ahead.

"I've already told everyone," said Matt. "Well, correction, Claire told most of them and we both agreed to reschedule this for when someone isn't on bed rest."

"You guys do stuff all the time and don't need bed rest."

"Jessica can bench-press a bus and Luke can get him by a bazooka and be fine," says Matt. "We're a little bit more malleable."

Foggy wants to flounce dramatically down to the bed like a pouting Regency-era heroine but while he's not above it, he's too damn tired to commit. Next time maybe.

"Okay," he says, hiding a yawn, "then we can have people here for dinner." His fingers dance across his phone. "I'm not tired and - "

"No way," says Matt, plucking the phone away from Foggy. Foggy is scandalised and, unfortunately, a tiny bit turned on. It's not fair that Matt looks this good when he's being mean to Foggy.

"No, Matt," Foggy begs, his hands making greedy little motions. "I absolutely have the energy to go out for dinner. Or stay in, whatever."

"You're yawning into your fist," says Matt kindly. "We can always reschedule. The Golden Seahorse will always be there in a few weeks' time."

"But, Matt," Foggy says, wheedling, aiming for anything he can gain purchase on, "in our present economic climate can we really afford to not offer them our patronage? A massive order of dumplings could be the only thing between the Xiangs making their rent this month."

"Really?" Matt asks, his eyebrows climbing so high they're almost gracing into his hairline.

"Okay, fine," concedes Foggy, "they're doing far too well to worry about us. But it's a tradition! More Chinese food than anyone could possibly eat and my loved ones! And it's not every day that a guy turns thirty!"

"It's been quite a few moons since you turned thirty," says Matt, settling down on the bed beside Foggy and kissing his bandaged knuckles. "Fortunately you're still cute enough."

"Yeah but it's all downhill from here," Foggy jokes. "Stuck here in this admittedly very comfortable bed, you'll soon find someone else to love you and more importantly tolerate you."

Foggy stifles a chuckle at the expression Matt makes, one Foggy is very familiar with, where the space between his eyebrows will scrunch a little and Matt will suddenly feel the need to reaffirm something.

"Never in a million years," says Matt, pressing another kiss to the butterfly bandage on Foggy's hand. "You're stuck with me, Nelson."

"And yet you won't let me go out for dinner?" says Foggy and before Matt can chime in says, "No, I get it, you're right. It'll be fine. It just sucks."

"What about," Matt says, laying down a little so he can lean across and start stroking Foggy's hair, "if we ordered food to the company account and we can just have a quiet night in. Sound good?"

"Hmm," says Foggy, feeling a little warm and comfortable with Matt's hands running through his hair. "All the plum duck I want with my favourite guy sounds pretty nice."

Matt leans up to kiss Foggy properly, tender and hot and sweet, careful of Foggy's injuries, and then peels away to grab his phone and order what will be an obscene amount of takeout.

Foggy sits back, feeling the aches and pains ease away, and the soft sounds of Matt's voice over the furious rain outside. It's not how he might have initially wanted to spend his not-thirtieth, but spending it with good food and a pliable, barely-dressed Matt, whose hands glow warm on Foggy's skin and looks at him like Foggy hung the moon, looks set to be a very good birthday indeed.


End file.
